


Looking Straight Out On the Road

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: A mission leaves Clint with major injuries and the prospect of a long stay in Medical. Phil is there to comfort and encourage.Or, a story about how Phil and Clint face the ups and downs of a long healing process and find strength in themselves and each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story began as a birthday gift for Ralkana and then took on a huge unexpected life of its own. 
> 
> Many thanks to Ralkana and Rurounihime for cheerleading!
> 
> Title from "My Silver Lining" by First Aid Kit.

“Where is he?” Phil snaps at the agent milling about next to the nurses’ station. 

She points down the hallway. “Last door on the left, sir.”

Phil nearly runs. “If anyone’s dumb enough to interrupt me, they can look forward to a transfer to Fairbanks.”

The agent straightens. “Understood, sir.”

Phil opens the door and steps inside. The door snicks closed behind him. Clint’s bed is the only one in the room, illuminated by a small bedside lamp and the glow of machines.

Phil thought he was prepared. He read the reports, after all, and he’s gotten near-hourly updates on Clint’s status since the evac team found him nearly five days ago.

But that’s nothing compared to seeing Clint, bruised and pale and hooked up to too many things that beep.

Phil takes a steadying breath. He punches in the security override that disables the video surveillance for five minutes, then takes out his phone and sets the timer for four minutes, thirty seconds. He takes off his suit jacket, loosens his tie, and rolls up his sleeves. As he crosses the room, he leaves Agent Coulson behind.

His sits on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle Clint. He takes Clint’s left hand into his own. By some miracle, Clint only broke one arm. Phil lets a few seconds tick by, just holding Clint’s hand.

There were moments over the last days when Phil wasn’t sure if he’d ever get to do that again. He nearly chokes on the gratitude of feeling the warmth of Clint’s palm against his own.

Phil lets his other hand hover over the center of Clint’s chest before settling it very gently. He ignores the trembling in his fingers when they pick up Clint’s heartbeat. It was such a close call, especially because the evac team couldn’t leave right away to get Clint to safety. Phil curses himself for the hundredth time for not having been there himself, for staying back at HQ because the mission looked simple enough on paper.

He lets go of Clint’s hand and leans forward, bracing his forearm next to Clint’s head. He bends down until he can tuck his face into the crook of Clint’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, and I’m—“ Phil needs to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

Across the room, his phone alarm beeps once.

No. It’s too soon. He can’t—this hasn’t been enough time.

He has thirty seconds to pull himself together again, to stop being Phil and become Agent Coulson again. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even open his eyes.

The video feed will start up again any second. It’s not like their relationship is a secret, exactly. But Phil likes his private life to be private, and Clint understands that.

Clint stirs. Phil pulls back and cradles his head in his hand, thumb brushing over his forehead.

Clint struggles to open his eyes. When he manages, they slowly focus. “Phil?” 

“Hi. I’m here. Try not to talk.”

The machines beep louder as Clint grasps for Phil. Phil stills his hand, squeezes it. “I’m here,” he repeats, the words scratching in his throat. “You’re at HQ. You’re safe.”

“Don’ leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Phil bends down again and nuzzles Clint’s cheek. “I’ll be right here.”

Clint turns his head, seeking contact. Phil kisses the corner of his eye, his cheek. They stay this close until Clint fades from consciousness again.

Phil straightens, decision made.

**

“Hello, Heather,” Phil greets the nurse at the front desk.

“Agent Coulson, what can I do for you?”

They’ve known each other for years. She’s been at SHIELD almost as long as Phil has. “I need a copy of the EVOP-P/R form.”

“I’m sure you know you can’t fill that out on another agent’s behalf.” Heather’s tone is kind.

“It’s for me.” Phil pauses, weighs his next words, but then decides he’s always been in favor of a direct approach. “For Agent Barton and me, to be precise.”

Heather sends Phil a sympathetic look. “I’d love to give you one, but without the corresponding HR registration…”

“You can check the database.” Softer, Phil adds, “We’ve been registered as partners for some time.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices that Agents Gonzalez and Chen have paused their animated conversation. Phil can see the SHIELD gossip mill spring into action; it might just save him a number of tiring explanations.

“Of course.” Heather, always the professional, slides the form from one of the trays on her desk. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Phil fills it out quickly, having memorized his and Clint’s relevant information a long time ago. He hands it back to Heather.

“I’ll file this now, and I’ll put in a request for bed. Is there anything else you need?”

“I’d appreciate a change of clothes. The standard SHIELD leisure pack will be fine.” Phil has been in this suit for almost two days.

“I have one in the back.” 

As Heather disappears, Phil casts a glance at the Gonzalez and Chen, who are now having a fervent but hushed discussion. No doubt about who to tell the news first. Phil is tempted to ask one of them to get him something from the cafeteria, but that would only be a delay of the inevitable. 

“Here you go.” Heather hands Phil a stack of clean clothes.

“One more thing. Could you…could you request one of those beds that snap to another?”

Heather smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Phil nods and walks down the corridor until he’s out of earshot. He calls Jasper first and asks him to bring over his laptop and pair of spare glasses Phil keeps in his office. Then he calls Fury with an update on Clint’s condition and a warning that Phil will finally take some of his vacation. He endures the good-natured ribbing about _staying in a hospital next to someone who’s mostly unconscious isn’t the same as a beach resort, goddammit, Cheese_ and appreciates the sincere _go take care of your man, Phil_ at the end of their call.

Clint is still out when Phil comes back to the room, but all his vital signs are stable. Phil walks to his bedside and lays his hand over Clint’s. “I’m back. To stay. I’m going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll be right there with you, okay?” Phil doesn’t know if Clint can sense his presence or his words, but he wants him to know that he isn’t alone.

As far as hospital bathrooms go, this is one of the nicer ones. Phil stands under the hot water for longer than he plans, but the heat and the force with which the water hits his skin makes him aware of how sore his muscles are. It’s also the first time he’s been alone in a few days.

The memories of the first hours after Clint disappeared threaten to surface, but Phil forces them away. He cannot deal with that now. He needs to focus on Clint being alive, on making sure Clint heals as well as he can.

The clean sweats feel wonderful—soft and warm, thanks to R&D’s high standards for SHIELD gear. 

As he steps back into the room, Clint’s eyes are open, but he’s struggling. 

“Hey there,” Phil says as he enters Clint’s field of vision. He sits at Clint’s hip and strokes over his arm.

“You’re here.” Clint’s voice still sounds scratchy.

“Told you I would be.”

Clint almost manages a smile. “Stay?”

Phil takes Clint’s hand between both of his. “I’m staying. They’re bringing a bed for me. I put in the EVOP form so I’ll be here for as long as you want me.” He almost wishes he didn’t mention the form when Clint’s face falls.

“How bad?” There’s fear in Clint’s eyes. Of course. He’d know that you only file an Extended Visit of Patient request when an agent will be confined to Medical for weeks.

“It’s serious. There were a few moments…but you’re through the worst of it. You broke your right arm and tore up both your knees pretty badly and your lungs aren’t in great shape, either. But mostly you need rest now.”

Clint doesn’t look reassured. Phil wants to fold him into his arms and hold him until that uncertainty goes away. He pulls Clint’s hand up against his chest instead. “One day at a time, for now. Can you do that?”

Clint nods. He blinks as if his eyelids are too heavy.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Phil sits with Clint until he’s drifted off, and continues to sit, holding his hand, until Heather and another nurse bring the extra bed.

“Got the last of the snap ones.”

Phil stands and lets the nurses get to work with setting up the bed. “Thank you, Heather. That means a lot.” And to Clint, who always sleeps better when Phil is next to him.

When the bed is ready, the two mattresses line up seamlessly.

“If you need anything else, I’m here until seven. I’ll let Gary from the day shift know about your EVOP. We’re also turning the video feed off. We’re still getting Clint’s vitals from the monitors anyway.”

Phil knows that disabling the surveillance isn’t standard protocol. It’ll make him rest easier knowing not every word and action that happens between him and Clint will be filed away on SHIELD’s servers. ‘Thank you’ seems too little, considering, but he says it anyway.

Heather sends him a fond smile. “You’re welcome.”

Once Phil is alone with Clint again, he suddenly feels the exhaustion weigh like lead in his limbs. The three steps to the bed are almost too far.

He shuffles as close to Clint as he dares without risking a disturbance of the IV lines and monitoring cables. It’s not close enough to lean into Clint’s side, but Clint will feel that Phil’s there. Resting his palm on Clint’s upper arm, Phil falls asleep.

**

Early the next morning, Jasper stops by with the requested items, plus more clothes, and, most importantly, bagels and coffee. They find a secluded corner.

“How is he?” Jasper asks.

Phil almost says “fine” or “as good as can be expected,” but he doesn’t have to put up a front with Jasper. “Not great. Can’t really stay awake for more than a minute or two at a time. It’ll be a long road back to where he was.”

Jasper nods, but doesn’t offer platitudes, for which Phil is grateful. “The rumors about you and Clint are already making the rounds. But you probably knew that.”

“Chen and Gonzalez didn’t waste any time.”

“Nope.” Jasper reaches for his coffee and takes a long sip. “I didn’t catch any details. Everyone stops talking as soon as I’m nearby. ‘Oh shit, senior agent,’ you know.”

Phil huffs a laugh. “Yeah.” Sometimes he needs to remind himself of his rank. It doesn’t seem that long ago that he was a junior agent.

“I’m taking over the Cambodia op, by the way. I assume you’ll still be available for background?”

“Anytime. Keep me in the loop. About the Monaco planning, too. I’m not sure how much of the day-to-day—”

Jasper holds up a hand. “No one expects you to do that. You’re on leave, and your mind is elsewhere, for good reason. I’ll send a briefing each day and if anything’s urgent, I’ll call you.”

“Alright.” Phil doesn’t want to leave anybody hanging, but if he’s honest, he isn’t sure if he could give any op his full attention.

They chat for a little while longer. Phil gives Jasper his keys so he can clean out the fridge and get the novel Phil has been trying to finish for months now.

When Phil gets back to Clint’s room, he’s at a loss. He’d be halfway through the sit rep for all active missions by now, probably trying to put out a few fires. He considers going through his inbox, but then he looks at Clint and decides his email can wait.

Phil sits cross-legged next to Clint. His fingers wrap around the back of Clint’s hand. “Good morning.” In the bright sunshine coming in through the windows, the bruises on Clint’s body stand in stark contrast to his skin. Phil rarely questions SHIELD’s motives or the sacrifices required to keep it going, but looking at Clint, it seems like SHIELD asked too much this time. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you. That it took me so long.” Phil swears that this will never happen again. Clint already suffered enough in his life before coming to SHIELD.

When Clint surfaces again, he seems to have a more stable grasp on consciousness. Phil helps him drink a few sips of water.

“I love you,” Clint says.

It sends Phil reeling. Clint’s never said that before; Phil certainly wasn’t prepared to hear it now. He squeezes Clint’s hand, absolutely at a loss for words.

“Should’ve said it before. Worried it’d be too late.”

Phil’s heart hammers in his chest. “I knew. I’ve known, for a while. You didn’t need to—I love you, too. So much.”

“Y’told me b’fore.”

Phil has. He’s told Clint many times because he wanted to make sure that Clint would never doubt it. He uncurls Clint’s fingers and presses a kiss into his palm. A smile tugs at Clint’s lips as his eyes close.

Phil desperately wants to keep Clint awake. Wants to keep talking to him. Mostly, he once again wishes he could pull Clint close. He misses Clint’s arms around him, the way his hand would settle at his nape, thumb scratching along Phil’s hairline. Even before Clint’s car went over that cliff, they hadn’t seen each other for three weeks. 

Phil scrubs a hand over his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He needs to get his mind off this. Tackling his inbox seems like a good distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, Phil’s life revolves around the stretches of time when Clint is awake. They remain short, and Clint remains in a state of wonder at Phil still being there. Clint seems present, but Phil knows the haze of drugs hasn’t cleared yet.

When Clint is asleep, Phil keeps himself busy. He re-organizes his inbox and the filing system on his laptop. He goes to work out when the small room seems to close in on him and he feels he should be able to do more for Clint. He has lunch with Jasper, who brings Clint’s favorite purple fleece blanket. It’s probably silly to believe that a blanket makes any sort of difference, but Clint runs a hand over it and smiles, and that’s all that matters.

Phil also combs through the data that led to Clint tumbling down a cliff in a SHIELD SUV. He isolates the failures in communication, in mission prep, in vehicle safety. One person doesn’t have a job at SHIELD anymore by the end of it. Phil weighs the decision for a day, but an avoidable oversight almost led to the death of an agent. He forwards the decision and rationale to Fury for final approval; the positive response comes only ten minutes later.

One morning, Clint wakes up and there’s a different look in his eyes. They hold more of their usual sharpness. Clint looks around the room and then at Phil, almost as if he’s sorting out where he is and what he’s doing there.

Phil closes his laptop and sets it aside. “Morning. What do you remember?”

Clint blinks. “The accident, and then a lot of nothing, and…have we been talking?”

“Off and on. You’ve been here for almost a week.”

Clint looks him up and down. “And you’ve been here?”

“Most of the time.” Phil wonders if most of the past week has been lost to Clint. “I filed an EVOP for us.”

“But…don’t have you have work to do? Baby agents to scare?” 

That brings a smile to Phil’s face. “They’re getting some time off. I hear Hill’s picking up the slack.” Phil’s hand settles on Clint’s forearm. “How do you feel?”

Clint makes a face. “Like a herd of elephants took a long nap on me.”

“That sounds about right.”

“You’ve really been here this whole time?” Clint asks, softer.

Phil nods.

“But…what about that whole professional integrity thing?”

Phil slides his hand into Clint’s. “Priorities change.” He wants to leave it at that. Clint would probably let him get away with it. But Phil owes a more elaborate explanation. “After the accident, there was some time when—when it didn’t look good. And it took a few days for you to be stable enough to be flown to HQ. When you were finally here…” Phil shrugs. “I couldn’t do it. Be nothing more than your handler.”

Clint squeezes his hand. “Can you—come closer?”

Phil shifts, slowly stretches out, when Clint’s good arm catches him around the waist and pulls him down, into Clint’s side. It’s the best sign that Clint hasn’t lost all his strength. “Careful, you’re still—”

“You’re not hurting me.” Clint noses into Phil’s hair, his hand cradling the back of his head.

Phil closes his eyes and presses his cheek against Clint’s shoulder. He wants to wrap his arm around Clint, but he’s seen the bruising on Clint’s right side and doesn’t risk it.

They stay still for some time, just breathing each other in.

“When we were talking, before, did I tell you—did I tell you that—?” Clint whispers.

“You did.” Phil’s chest and stomach knot with too many feelings.

“Good. Because…” Clint halts. “I love you.” The words are so soft Phil barely hears them. As if Clint is trying them out on his tongue to see if he can push them out.

Phil props himself up, but Clint’s eyes dart away. “I know it’s hard for you to tell me. If it’s too hard, I understand. You’ve shown me in so many ways.” He leans close to Clint’s ear. “Love you, too.” He nuzzles the side of Clint’s neck and feels Clint shiver.

“When are they going to kick me out?”

Phil has no idea what Clint means. When he draws back, Clint meets his eyes. “Kick you out from where?”

“SHIELD.” Clint’s voice wavers.

“Why would anyone kick you out of SHIELD?” Phil wonders if there’s something about this mission he doesn’t know yet.

“Because…because the accident fucked me up? Because it’ll probably take me months to recover? Because maybe I can’t go back to the field?”

“That’s not going to happen.” Phil’s tone is sharper than he intended. “No one’s going to kick you out. Not even if you couldn’t go back into the field, which you will. But even if…there are so many other things you could do. Train agents. Do mission analysis. R&D, even.” Clint is so brilliant, and Phil hates every single person who made Clint believe the opposite. Who drummed into Clint that he’s only worth something because he can kill. “There will always be a place at SHIELD for you.”

Clint swallows. He tugs Phil close against him once more. “Wasn’t sure.”

“Always, Clint.”

**

Phil is on his way to the vending machine to get some M&Ms for Clint when he picks out his name from the conversation happening around the corner. He slows his steps.

“I mean, have you seen him? He’s in, like, sweatpants. And glasses.”

“Seriously? Coulson? I thought he slept in his suit.”

Phil identifies the agents as Miller, who got some light burns in Cambodia, as per Jasper’s last update, and Yoon, who was assigned on the op with Miller.

“Hard to believe, huh? Not so much of a robot, after all,” Yoon observes.

Miller sighs. “I wish I had someone who cared about me that much. I didn’t even know Coulson and Barton were a thing.”

“No one knew. Well, Fury, probably. And maybe Sitwell and Hill.”

“Figures, two of SHIELD’s hottest guys off the market in one fell swoop. Barton in particular. I’d hit that.”

Yoon laughs. “ _I’d_ hit that. And I’m not usually into dudes. But that ass…”

“And those arms, Jesus.”

Phil smiles. Yes, indeed, that ass and those arms, but also that smile and those eyes and the kind heart. He has heard enough. Schooling his features into his bland Agent Coulson expression, he rounds the corner at a brisk pace. “I’m afraid Agent Barton’s various assets are completely off-limits.”

Both Miller and Yoon jump. A flush of color creeps up Yoon’s neck.

“And have been for some time,” Phil adds as he comes to stop in front of the vending machine.

“Understood, sir,” Miller says.

“Apologies, Agent Coulson.” Yoon sounds contrite. “We didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Phil acknowledges them with a nod. “Perhaps this can be a lesson in remembering that you can never be sure who is eavesdropping on your conversations.” Phil feeds quarters to the machine and punches in the code. “Especially at HQ, where the walls literally have ears.”

Miller and Yoon look appropriately chastised. “Um, we are running late for a debrief with Agent Hill.” Yoon drags Miller along hallway, whispering furiously.

Phil bends to retrieve the M&Ms. He looks after them and shakes his head.

“Smooth, Phil,” Heather observes, looking up from her tablet.

Phil walks over to the nurses station. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Uhuh. You’re just a big old softie on the inside.”

Phil ducks his head. Heather has probably seen him drool onto Clint’s shoulder during one of her routine checks.

“But in all honesty, not everyone would drop everything to move into their partner’s hospital room.”

Phil shifts the bag of M&Ms from one hand to another. “Clint is…Clint’s life hasn’t been easy. He’s been left behind too often.”

“You want to make sure he knows that you’re not going to do that.”

Phil looks up. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s downright swoon-worthy,” Heather says with a wink.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Phil replies, cheeks heating. He turns towards Clint’s room.

“It’s the truth!” Heather calls after him.

Phil waves her off and hastens his steps before she can make any other too-accurate observations.

**

The more cables and IVs get detached from Clint, the more eager he is to get out of bed. 

“Promise me to take it slow,” Phil insists as Clint sits on the edge of the mattress.

“Yes. C’mon, get me the fuck out of this bed.”

Phil supports Clint’s weight as he stands. “Careful with your knees.”

“Yes, si—“ The rest of the words gets drowned out by a long hiss.

“Too much?”

Clint shakes his head. “Just really sore. Goddammit.” He takes a small step and sucks in a breath. And another one, and then one more, until they’ve taken a tiny circle around the room. “Well, that—that sucked.” Clint’s gulping for air.

“It’ll get easier.”

Clint lets out an annoyed groan and flops forward against Phil’s chest.

The slow start only makes Clint more determined. They take short walks each day until Clint can walk down half the corridor without being out of breath. He also pesters Dr. Warner long enough until she agrees that Clint is well enough to take a shower.

Heather comes by to wrap Clint’s cast in plastic. She offers to help with getting Clint into the shower, but both Clint and Phil reassure her that they’ll be fine by themselves.

Clint makes it into the bathroom without Phil’s help, but doesn’t protest when Phil pushes him to sit on the toilet while he turns on the water. Phil holds a hand under it until the temperature is just right. He strips off his own clothes before helping Clint.

When Clint steps under the spray, he lets out a deep sigh. His head dips forward. Phil slips into the stall behind him, close enough that Clint takes the hint and leans against him.

“You should sit,” Phil says. There’s a bench built into the shower.

“Not yet,” Clint mumbles and leans more heavily against Phil.

Phil carefully brings his arms around Clint. There are still enough sore spots on his body. 

Then he stops worrying. He’s missed this. He’s been close to Clint since they started sharing the hospital room, but not like this. It’s the most intimate thing they’ve done in weeks. It feels so good to have Clint’s skin against his, warm water running over both of them. 

Phil has always felt that it’s been a gift that Clint invited him into his life, but it feels even more precious now.

“Wanna go home,” Clint mumbles.

“Soon.” Phil’s tired of Medical, too, and that’s with the breaks he gets to go to the gym or the meetings that have crept back into his schedule.

When Clint’s legs wobble, Phil directs him to the bench. Phil picks up the shampoo. Clint’s hair is getting long; not that Phil minds. Clint lets out pleased noises when Phil’s fingers dig into his scalp. After the shampoo has rinsed clear, Phil reaches for the soap. He’s careful with the spots that are still blue-bleeding-into-yellow, but he kneads his fingers into stretches of muscles and skin in-between. Clint goes pliant under his hands, and Phil drags this out as much as he can, washing between Clint’s toes and behind his knees and other delicate places.

Clint grumbles when Phil shuts off the water. 

“We can have another shower tomorrow,” Phil promises. He wraps Clint in a towel.

“That was amazing. Thank you.” Clint sounds sleepy.

Phil rubs a hand towel over Clint’s hair until it’s halfway dry and sticks up in all directions. He quickly dries himself off and is just about to help Clint into some clothes when Clint pulls him in for a kiss.

It turns longer and more heated than Phil expected, but he goes along with it because he’s missed this with Clint, too.

“When we get out of here I want you to fuck me,” Clint says against Phil’s lips. “Even if my dick isn’t entirely on board with that agenda yet.”

Want slams into Phil before his brain can cut off those feelings. “You need to be well again first.” Phil says that as much to himself as to Clint.

“Pretty sure that would help me get better.” There’s teasing lilt to Clint’s voice, but it’s covering over something else.

Phil presses another soft kiss to Clint’s lips. “We’ll see.” He wants to give Clint what he needs, but he’d rather do that without needing to worry that touching Clint in the wrong spot will cause him pain. When he takes Clint to bed for the first time after all of this, he wants to be able to lose himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Phil runs into Natasha one evening when he’s getting to Medical later than he planned. Again. It seems as if she’s been lingering after visiting Clint.

“Be patient with him,” she says.

Phil likes to think that he’s always patient with Clint, but if Natasha purposefully milled around Medical so she could tell him this, Clint’s mood must be significantly off. “I will.”

Natasha’s gaze lingers on Phil’s face. “He’s not in a good place. Don’t let him try to push you away.”

“Did he try that with you?”

A small smile appears on her face. “He knows better than that.”

Most people do. Phil certainly knows not to try to manipulate Natasha’s feelings.

“It’s hard for him to spend most of his days alone.”

There isn’t even a hint of accusation in Natasha’s voice, but it makes Phil avert his eyes nonetheless. He’s been feeling guilty enough about that as is. He’s gotten sucked back into his job even though he’s technically still on leave. This is the fourth day in a row that he’s been gone well into the evening. He can’t even come up with a half-hearted excuse for that.

Natasha steps back into his line of sight. “He’s not going to tell you to stop caring about your job. And he won’t say it’s bothering him to be left alone.”

“So you’re telling me?”

Natasha only smiles in response.

“Thank you,” Phil says. He’s tired, and without Natasha’s intervention, he may have read Clint’s mood wrong.

When Phil enters their room, Clint has his back turned to the door. Phil takes his time to change out of his suit into more comfortable clothes. He slides into bed next to Clint, who slowly turns onto his back. Their sides press together.

Phil almost asks Clint about his day, but holds back the words.

Another minute goes by before Clint says, “All of this sucks.”

“I know.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Phil regrets them.

“No, you don’t. You’re not stuck in this fucking bed all day long, except for when you’re getting tortured in PT.”

Phil knows that he needs to pick his response carefully. His brain might be too fuzzy for that. “What can I do?” 

“Unless you can magically fix everything that’s still wrong with me, nothing.”

Natasha was right about Clint’s mood. Phil closes his eyes because he is so tired, but he also wants to do right by Clint. The problem is that Clint in this mood is almost impossible to predict. “I wish I could. I would if I could.”

Clint sits up, agitated. “I swear all this PT is just making it worse. I couldn’t even walk back to my room after I was done.”

Phil sits up as well, close enough that their shoulders bump. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there.” He means that. He needs to dial back his work involvement again, but he’s been part of the prep for the Monaco op for months, and Clint is doing better, and there didn’t seem to be a good enough reason to miss out on the last phase considering it’s only a ten-minute walk between Medical and Operations.

“Yeah, well, important work to do and all that.” Clint sounds both bitter and dismissive.

The rebuttal is on the tip of Phil’s tongue. That the work is indeed important. That lives are stake. That Clint should know that. But Phil won’t give in to the fight Clint is apparently itching for so he can vent his frustrations.

Phil counts to five and then turns so he can look directly at Clint. He keeps his voice soft and as sincere as he’s capable of. “I will do what I can to make this better for you, but I don’t know how.” 

Clint deflates. He fidgets and tries to turn away, but there’s only so much room in this bed and his mobility is still limited. “Fuck,” he whispers. His fingers dig into the folds of the blanket over his legs. “You can’t say that.”

“I mean it.”

Clint’s throat works, and he covers his eyes with one hand.

Phil’s insides twist and ache. He shuffles closer to Clint and they huddle together in an awkward hug. He can tell that Clint is trying very hard not to cry. “It’s okay,” Phil whispers. He runs a hand down Clint’s back.

When Clint finally relents, he hardly makes any noise. 

A fierce protectiveness roars to life inside of Phil at the thought of who and what taught Clint to be so quiet when he cries.

Phil also realizes that he grossly misjudged how well Clint is doing. Sure, he’s mending in a physical sense, but Clint was out there by himself, drifting in and out of consciousness, in horrific pain, for a long time before the evac team arrived. Clint hasn’t said anything about nightmares, but this must haunt him. 

Clint draws back and wipes the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Phil keeps a loose hold on Clint. It seems that he still needs it.

“Nat gave me a talking to about how I should just tell you things.”

“Things?” Phil makes it sound like a tease, kind and lighthearted, as if this was just about Clint being imprecise.

Clint fidgets again, and draws in a breath, but doesn’t say anything.

Phil waits.

Clint curls his fingers around Phil’s wrist. Like he needs something to hold on to. “You know when—when the circus left me behind?”

Phil takes a moment to make sure his voice is steady. He remembers the first time he read about this in Clint’s file. How he needed to push the file away and take a walk just so he wouldn’t take a hit out on everyone responsible for doing this to Clint. “Yes.”

“I spent some time in the hospital then, too. And there wasn’t…there wasn’t really anyone there. For me. So…” He shrugs.

Phil feels like the biggest idiot in the universe. He’s been so focused on the aftermath of the accident that he completely overlooked how being left alone in Medical mirrors a time which Clint has referred to as some of the worst weeks of his life. “I am so sorry.” The words nearly get stuck in Phil’s throat. Even if he wasn’t Clint’s partner, he should have been aware of this as Clint’s handler. 

“Nah, it’s—it’s cool, just my fucked-up life, you know? Not your fault. But—but I may not be—” He pauses. “It’s a lot nicer when you’re here, that’s all.”

Phil tugs Clint closer, one hand on his nape and an arm around his shoulders. It hurts to know that he let Clint down—something he swore he’d never do. “What if I pull a few strings about getting you home?”

Clint nods against Phil’s shoulder. His good arm wraps around Phil’s back.

“Okay. I will do that.” It shouldn’t be too difficult. One of the main reasons Clint is still in Medical is that it makes getting to and from PT easier, and Dr. Warner still has an eye on Clint’s lungs. But it would be good to be home, together. The added distance would also make it easier for Phil to stay away from work.

Phil resolves to get Clint out of Medical within the next twenty-four hours. He’s not going to let more ghosts haunt the man he loves.

“Are you going to come with me?” Clint sounds hesitant.

“Come with you where?”

“Home. My place, I mean.”

_Oh_. Phil didn’t consider Clint’s place; he had defaulted to thinking of going to his apartment. And to thinking of it as a home for both of them. They spend a lot of time there together, but officially, Clint still lives by himself. “I was thinking…we would go to my place? If that’s alright with you.”

There’s a pause. “Yeah. I—I’d like that. I wasn’t sure if—if you’d want that. Want me. There.”

“Of course. God, Clint, of course I want you to come home with me.” He holds Clint tighter. Natasha once called them emotionally stunted idiots, and clearly they haven’t progressed all that much from there. 

“Okay.” Clint smiles into Phil’s neck.

Phil closes his eyes and feels as if he can finally let go of this day.

**  
Clint isn’t released the next day. There are final tests to run, and it’s Dr. Warner’s day off, so she isn’t there to sign the paperwork even though the tests all come back fine.

Clint is disappointed but puts on a determined face. Phil stays with him the whole day, tries to cheer him up, but it doesn’t seem to help much. Heather lets Phil order delivery from Clint’s favorite burger place for dinner, and that makes Clint’s eyes light up. 

Sitcom reruns perfectly match their food coma. One episode even gets a chuckle from Clint. Phil is content to hold Clint against his chest, a reminder that Phil is there with and for him.

Phil slips into sleep easily that evening, helped along by Clint’s even breathing next to him and the prospect of home the day after.

Phil is woken up by a sharp pain to his side. He’s alert instantly and sits up, finding Clint tossing next to him, arms flailing. He nearly hits Phil again, but Phil manages to catch Clint’s wrist. “Wake up,” he urges. He doesn’t want to use too much force, but the broken noises Clint makes suggest he’s caught deep in a dream. “Clint. _Clint_.”

Clint’s eyes fly open, darting here and there. 

“You’re safe. No one’s after you. We’re both safe.” Phil has witnessed Clint having nightmares before, usually after a particularly bad op. He strokes Clint’s arm to ground him in the here and now.

Clint blinks and his breathing slows. He finally meets Phil’s eyes. 

“Hey. Bad dream?”

Clint rolls into Phil’s side, pressing his face to his hip. A really bad dream, then. Phil keeps touching him until some of the tension leaves Clint’s body. The back of Clint’s T-shirt clings to his back and the hair on his neck has twisted into curls—all signs that Clint was caught in this dream for a while. No wonder it takes him some time to surface from it.

Finally, Clint reaches for Phil and tugs him down. Phil settles on his side, tucked close to Clint. 

“They weren’t going to let me go,” Clint begins, voice wavering. “They said I wasn’t ready, that I needed to stay. And you—you sort of faded away. I tried to keep you there, but I couldn’t. And I knew you wouldn’t be back. That you were gone.” Clint is close enough that it’s easy to feel his eyes squeezing shut.

Phil holds Clint as close as he can. The cast presses uncomfortably against his chest, but Clint’s peace of mind is more important. “I’d never leave you behind. You know that, right?” There’s a hesitant nod against Phil’s throat. “And you will get out of here. I promise.”

“I want to go home.” Clint sounds frightened and lost.

Phil nuzzles him, pure base instinct coming through. “Then let’s go home.” They already know Clint is good to leave; the only missing thing is the official sign-off. It could take most of tomorrow to get that, depending on how busy Medical gets. “I have the authority to check you out AMA.”

Clint stills. “Really? We could just…go? Now?”

“If you want.”

Clint pulls away. “Yes. Fuck, yes.” He sits up, pushing the blanket off his legs.

Phil follows suit. “Grab whatever you think you’ll need tonight.” He checks his phone: it’s 4:36am. “I can go back for the rest tomorrow.” Phil stands and reaches for the sweatshirt hanging over the back of a chair. “I’ll do the paperwork and get a car.”

Clint sits on the edge of the mattress. “Thank you.”

Phil walks around the bed. He kisses Clint’s temple. “Should’ve done that yesterday.”

**

They get home just as dawn begins to paint the sky golden. They crawl into bed—fresh sheets thanks to the cleaning service SHIELD hired to make Phil’s apartment livable again after all these weeks—and fall into an exhausted sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil wakes to the soft patter of rain against the window. Otherwise, everything is quiet. It’s a marked contrast to the last few weeks in Medical, where some noise was always around them, even if it was only people walking down the corridor. Phil sinks back into a doze, content to be home, finally, with Clint tucked close.

Phil surfaces again to Clint’s hand slipping under his T-shirt, fingertips drawing gentle lines over his skin. He lets out a sigh. Lips tease along his jaw, and Phil turns his head so Clint has more skin to work with. Clint finds that one spot right under Phil’s ear that always makes him squirm, and he reaches for Clint, wants him closer. Clint follows the invitation and shifts more of his weight on top of Phil, which is good—really good. 

“Morning,” Clint whispers into Phil’s ear, lips barely brushing over it.

Phil tries to say something in return, but a stuttered breath is all he is capable of.

Clint chuckles and kisses Phil’s cheek, and the corner of his mouth, and finally, they kiss, tongues slotting together without any preamble. They haven’t kissed like this since that first shower they took together. Their room may have been private, but too many people still had access to it at all times. No one will disturb them now.

Phil slides a hand up Clint’s back to feel his muscles work. He keeps his touch light to avoid the few sore spots that still linger. Clint’s hand wanders, too, under the elastic of Phil’s pajamas, thumb swiping into the groove of his hip.

Phil moans into Clint’s mouth and pushes up against him. He’s getting hard, and he wants to feel Clint against him, feel an echo of his own want. What he feels is the opposite. It’s disorienting because Clint is usually far ahead of him in that respect.

Phil pulls out of the kiss. He needs to see Clint’s face. He finds a dazed, confused look. 

“Don’ stop,” Clint pleads, leaning in again.

Phil turns his face away. He’s trying to think clearly, but not being awake plus still really wanting to get off don’t allow for that. He rolls his hips again, with the same result. “What—“

“’s the drugs,” Clint murmurs. “Side-effects. Doesn’t matter.” Clint’s thumb inches down. “Please tell me you restocked the lube.”

That’s like a bucket of cold water over Phil’s head. “No.”

“Aww, man, that sucks, but plenty to do without it, right?” 

Phil draws farther away from Clint. “No, I meant, I don’t think I can do this now.” 

Clint frowns. For a moment, he looks at Phil. The frown morphs into a grin that’s not entirely convincing. “Pretty sure you can.” Clint skims the side of Phil’s cock.

Phil sucks in a sharp breath. Yeah, he could, that’s not the issue here. And some part of him wants to. Quite a lot, in fact. But not when Clint isn’t completely on board, too. He stills Clint’s hand. “I’d rather wait.”

Hurt flashes through Clint’s eyes. “You said…” Softer, he adds, “You promised.”

He had. Phil makes sure that Clint meets his eyes, and that he can see the want and love he has for him. “I did. And I’ll make good on that promise once you’re off those drugs and—”

“And what? I can get it up again?”

Phil wants to say ‘yes’ but he knows it’s the wrong answer. It’s not what Clint needs to hear. Phil also knows that desire is complicated and Clint might very well enjoy it if they had sex now, but it doesn’t sit right with Phil. 

“You know what, never mind.” Clint shuffles away from Phil, back to the other side of the bed. “It’s okay. Not a big deal.”

Yeah, he fucked that up. Clint clearly feels rejected, and based on experience, nothing Phil can say right now will fix that. “I’m sorry. It’s my issue.” 

Clint waves him off. “It’s fine.”

Phil sits up. He rubs his eyes and looks over at Clint, who has drawn the comforter up to his nose. Phil reaches out to run a hand over his hair. At least Clint doesn’t flinch away from him. “How about I make some breakfast? Pancakes? Scrambled eggs?”

Clint lets out a flat hum.

Phil strokes his hair again. “Love you,” he says softly.

Clint completely slips under the blanket.

Phil holds back a sigh. It’ll be okay. Clint needs some time to stew, and Phil could also do with some time to examine his own reaction. He gets out of bed, pulls on one of Clint’s sweatshirts, and heads to the kitchen.

He takes his time with making breakfast. Coffee first, with a quick check of his inbox. Nothing too urgent. Phil scrambles eggs, makes two kinds of pancakes—plain and chocolate chip—and fries up some bacon.

When the bacon is halfway done, Clint walks into the kitchen. He doesn’t look at Phil, but he surveys the food keeping warm in various pans on the stove. He also accepts a mug with coffee from Phil. 

“Sit, I’ll get you a plate.” Phil speaks softly, and he lets his touch linger when Clint takes the coffee from him. Touch often works best for Clint when it comes to reassurance. 

Clint sits. 

Phil piles eggs, chocolate chip pancakes, and bacon onto a plate. There’s real maple syrup in the fridge, so he sets that on the table as well. Clint breaks off a piece of bacon before Phil can give him a fork. Phil rubs a hand across Clint’s back. Tense muscles press back into his palm. Phil puts a little more force into the next stroke and sees Clint’s shoulders slump a little. Clint isn’t too mad, then.

Phil knows he needs to be patient. They’ve been together long enough for Phil to know that Clint will eventually talk. When they first got together, Phil tried to coax the words out of Clint, too eager to help, but it would only make Clint retreat more. He’s learned to live with this sort of silence from Clint. Phil still likes to reach out to Clint during those times in whatever way he thinks is most effective—small touches, favorite foods, a short text. But he no longer pushes Clint to talk.

They eat in silence. It’s not uncomfortable. Clint clearly enjoys his breakfast, getting seconds of the pancakes and eggs. After they’re done, Phil sets Clint’s meds down, which gets him a mumbled _thank you_. Phil collects their dishes and washes them by hand rather than piling them in the dishwasher. They both need some more time to be quiet around each other. Clint stays seated, finishing the rest of his coffee. 

It’s a good sign. If Clint was angry with Phil, he’d leave the room. 

They retreat to the living room and take up their usual spots on the couch. Phil gets his tablet to catch up on the morning’s news. Clint’s toes nudge against his thighs. Phil settles a hand on his ankles, as he always does. 

Phil goes through the SHIELD morning brief—both the highly classified version and the general announcements that include the cafeteria menu—and has moved on to international newspapers when Clint starts shifting from one position to the next. Phil ignores it for a few minutes. Patience, and all that. But when Clint doesn’t stop, Phil wonders if it’s an invitation.

“Want me to get your pillow?”

Clint lets out a breath. “No.” He scratches under the edge of his cast. “I don’t know how to talk about this.” He sounds frustrated.

Phil doesn’t want to push Clint away again by saying the wrong thing. But taking too long to choose just the right thing words won’t work either. Being direct often works best with Clint once he’s come out of a funk enough to reach out. “Tell me what’s on your mind and we can sort through it together.”

Clint frowns. It takes him a minute to speak again. “I want—I just want something normal. Something we always do together. And that still works even with this.” He lifts his cast. “But I guess it doesn’t.”

“I understand that.” Phil sincerely means that. He’s had injuries before that took their time to heal, and it infuriated him. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t…” He gets stuck on his words. But he needs to tell Clint. He needs to be honest. “I understand, rationally, that you were into what we were doing. I just…couldn’t go through with it. It’s entirely on me, and I’m sorry.” Phil swallows. “I know I let you down.”

Clint looks up at him, eyes wide and earnest. “You’ve never let me down.” 

Phil’s throat tightens to the point where he can’t speak.

“I just want…” Clint starts again. “Look, my body’s so fucked up right now, but this is still something I can do, that we can do, and maybe it can make me forget about all the other stuff for a little while.”

Phil closes his eyes. He needs a moment. He desperately wants to give Clint what he’s asking for, but he knows that as long as Clint has that arm in a cast, and those bruises aren’t entirely gone, and he’s still on a whole slew of medications…Phil wouldn’t enjoy it. 

Phil opens his eyes and slides off the couch. He needs to be closer to Clint. He kneels on the carpet next to the couch. He half-leans onto the sofa cushion, nearly close enough for their noses to brush. He wraps an arm around Clint’s waist. Clint’s good arm draws him in, and they stay like this for a little while. Phil almost wants to end the conversation here because they are in an okay place again, and he could let Clint live in the hope that sex is on the table. But it’s not, and he won’t lie to Clint, not even by omission.

So needs to get this out. “You’re the most important person in my life. I try to do everything I can to make sure you’re safe, and happy, and that you know how much you’re loved.” Clint lets out a half-choked sound. “I love you so much.” Phil’s voice shakes. “But I can’t do this for you. It doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry. I worry that I’d get carried away, and I’d hurt you in some way, or that I couldn’t tell that you’re not that into it, and that’s…I can’t let that happen. I’d never forgive myself.”

Clint doesn’t say anything for far too long. His voice sounds scratchy when he manages to talk again. “You wouldn’t do that. Hurt me. You care far too much for that.” He sighs. “I wish I’d be fine again already. I do all this PT and I can’t tell if it helps.”

“It does. Think about how much easier it is for you to walk compared to two weeks ago. Or getting out of bed. Moving around in general.”

“’m so tired of all of it.”

Clint sounds defeated. It breaks Phil’s heart. “I know.” He wants to add that he’d do anything to make Clint feel better, but he can’t say that. After all, he’s already rejected the one thing for which Clint asked.

“You’ll still want to, after, right? Once I’m better. You’ll still want—want me?” The words come out in a rush.

“Of course.” That’s an easy answer. “I want to. And I want you. Jesus, Clint, you almost made me come earlier without even touching me.”

Clint swallows. “Okay.”

Phil leans in again, slow enough for Clint to pull away if this isn’t welcome. Clint tilts his head up, kissing back with more force than Phil expected. The kiss tips over into slow and dirty, and for a while Phil’s brain only registers sparks caused by Clint’s tongue and his thumb running over the same sensitive spot behind his ear. It feels amazing and has a definite effect on Phil. 

He eases them out of the kiss. “Not fair,” he whispers.

“Yeah, well.” Clint isn’t sorry at all. “That was good.”

It’s heartfelt and makes Phil feel warm all over. “Exceptional, even.”

“So we can keep doing that?” Clint’s thumb finds that sensitive spot again.

Phil shivers. “Yes. Absolutely.” 

Clint’s smile borders on content. It’s enough for now.

“So we’re okay?” Phil needs to be sure. 

“Yeah, we’re okay.” There’s relief in Clint’s words, and Phil can feel it, too, in the way Clint’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath.


	5. Chapter 5

Phil goes back to work ten days later. He probably could have returned to full-time earlier because Clint’s mood improves by the day now that he’s out of Medical. But Phil doesn’t want to take any chances.

The first week back is remarkably quiet. Phil makes it home for dinner most days. He tries to soak up every second of this quiet domesticity because it happens on borrowed time. SHIELD is never quiet for too long, and Clint’s health has improved enough that he can go back on light duty soon, too.

Then Malaysia happens. It isn’t even Phil’s op, but Jasper gets struck down by food poisoning due to an unlicensed food truck—“It was worth it, Phil, really!”—and Phil is roughly familiar with the situation because he’s more or less familiar with every current op. Things go to hell at a remarkable speed, and Phil starts losing track of whether it’s day or night. He’s coordinating a team of five at SHIELD and ten on the ground, all hell-bent on salvaging the op. They make up plans on the fly, scramble for resources, call in every favor in most of Southeast Asia. 

After three days, it’s done. All agents alive, and intel secured. Two more hours of debrief, another hour to delegate tasks, and then Phil is finally on the way home.

During the car ride, he realizes he has seven unread texts from Clint. The first six express increasing worry, and the seventh explains that he got a hold of Hill, knows what’s going on, and tells Phil to hang in there, followed by three heart emoticons. Phil nearly cries, overwhelmed by exhaustion, guilt, and longing.

He has to try three times to fit the key into the lock. He finally manages, opens the door, and slumps against it once it’s closed behind him. He closes his eyes. He needs a minute or five. 

Footsteps come closer and stop. “You’re home,” Clint says softly.

Phil can only manage an acknowledging grunt. Arms come around him and gather him close with great care. Phil can’t even lift his arms to hug Clint back. So he just stands, Clint’s arms around him. Clint’s hand is a comforting weight at his nape, blunt edge of a nail scratching gently along Phil’s hairline.

“Glad you’re home.” 

Phil nods against Clint’s chest. He focuses on breathing and letting all thoughts of the op slip away.

Clint sways them back and forth in tiny movements. His hand strokes over Phil’s hair; the other remains tight around his waist.

It takes Phil a minute to work out why that’s odd. “Your arm…the cast.” He pushes away so he can see. 

“They took it off yesterday afternoon. Said it was healed enough.” Clint stretches out his arm so Phil can get a good look at it.

Phil blinks and stares at the pale skin. He reaches out and runs his fingertips over Clint’s forearm. It looks thinner than Phil remembers.

“It feels fine,” Clint says. “Finally. I keep forgetting that I can use that arm again. Almost wrapped it in plastic when I took a shower this morning.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Clint pulls him in again. “Hey, don’t be. You were busy.”

Busy is the understatement of the year. He’s happy for Clint. He should probably say something to that effect. “I’m glad. About your arm. That it’s okay again.” Phil sounds like he requested a stationary refill, but he doesn’t have the energy for enthusiasm.

Clint laughs. “Okay, you need to sleep. Or eat and sleep. I have leftover Chinese.” He kisses Phil’s ear. “Go change.”

Phil reluctantly lets go of Clint and shuffles to their bedroom. He drops his clothes into a pile on the floor and forces himself to take a quick shower. It wakes him up enough that he’ll manage to get through their meal without falling asleep half-way through. 

When Phil comes back into the kitchen, there are new take-out bags on the table. Maybe he stood in the shower for longer than he thought. He frowns.

Clint shrugs. “I ordered soup dumplings. There was only beef and broccoli left over, so…figured we’d need more food.”

Soup dumplings are Phil’s favorite. He feels warm all over, and Clint is too far away. He holds out an arm.

Clint slides into the embrace. “Two hugs in the span of half an hour? You really are tired.” It’s barely a tease, affection smoothing out any edges.

“I am.” Phil sighs. “Geneva levels of exhaustion.”

Clint chuckles. “I couldn’t even talk by the end of that mission.”

“You pointed at things and got really annoyed when I couldn’t decipher what you wanted.”

“My pointing was very clear, but you were as tired as I was, so I gave you a pass.”

Phil smiles at the memories.

Clint nudges Phil toward a chair. “C’mon, let’s eat. Someone has repeatedly told me that you need to eat soup dumplings while they’re piping hot.”

Phil sits and pulls one of the paper bags closer. Clint heats his leftovers in the microwave before joining Phil at the table. 

They eat in silence, but their feet tangle companionably.

“Bed now?” Clint asks once they’re done.

It’s only 7pm; too early for Clint to go to bed. But Phil doesn’t want to go to bed alone. What he really wants is to fall asleep on the couch with Clint while they watch TV. Phil can’t explain it, but there’s something deeply comforting about being lulled to sleep by a dumb action movie while curling into the warmth of Clint’s body. Phil isn’t sure how to ask for that. 

Clint squeezes his hand. “Hey.”

Phil’s thoughts and eyes slide back into focus. “Sorry.”

“I was just worried you’d fall asleep in your chair, and that’s not comfortable.” Clint looks at him in that disarming way he has, when his entire focus is on Phil, and there is nothing but earnest trust and love in his eyes.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet.” Phil is aware that this doesn’t make any sense considering his obvious exhaustion and need for sleep.

“Want me to put on a movie?”

Phil nods, utterly grateful that Clint knows him so well. He watches as Clint clears the table and then follows him to the couch. Clint sits in one corner so that Phil can stretch out his legs and lean against him. He doesn’t mind at all when Clint tucks the purple fleece blanket around them both.

When the opening credits of the movie roll, Clint says, “You know I like this, right?” He tugs Phil a little closer with the arm he has around Phil’s waist. “This isn’t some sort of chore. This is fucking amazing, even after three years.”

Phil finds Clint’s hand under the blanket. “I do. I do know that.”

Clint’s voice falls to just above a whisper. “So you can always ask me for that, okay?”

Phil bites his lip for a moment, too many feelings crashing over him. “Yes.”

Clint kisses his neck. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

Phil smiles and does exactly that.

**

Phil wakes the next morning to a rainy dawn. He has no recollection of how he got to bed. Clint is half-draped over him, his breath flowing in small puffs over Phil’s neck. They are wrapped up in the giant comforter Clint loves. 

Phil smiles because the world is warm and quiet. Perfect. He lets his eyes slide closed again and slips back into sleep.

When he surfaces once more, the room is much brighter. They have shifted onto their sides, bodies aligned front to back, and Phil’s arm wrapped around Clint. Clint’s thumb idles across the back of Phil’s hand.

“Should’ve woken me up,” Phil mumbles into Clint’s shoulder. 

“I haven’t been awake that long. Besides, this is nice.”

That it is. Phil exhales and presses his face into Clint’s shoulder. His T-shirt is soft and sleep-warm. Phil never wants to move. He dozes, floating on a feeling of ease that he hasn’t felt in a while.

Eventually, Clint slips out of Phil’s hold. “Sorry, but I’m getting really hungry.”

Phil could eat. He follows Clint into the kitchen. Phil would be fine with cereal, but Clint insists on a real breakfast. He makes oatmeal and cuts up bananas while Phil tackles the coffee machine.

When Clint spoons brown sugar into a little bowl and sets it onto the table, Phil smiles. “Am I being wooed? Because that’s not necessary. You already got me.”

Clint scoops oatmeal from the pot into two bowls. “Maybe, and of course it is. Just keeping the romance alive.”

That makes Phil smile more. “With oatmeal.”

Clint sits at the table opposite Phil. “You love oatmeal.”

“That I do.” He pauses, unsure if he’ll sound too sappy, then figures, what the hell. “And I love you, too.”

Clint ducks his head and intently stirs sugar into his oatmeal. “Same.” His eyes flick up to Phil. “A lot.”

After breakfast, Clint takes a shower. Phil washes the dishes and decides to give the countertops and stove a good scrubbing. He’s leaning over the counter trying to get at a stubborn corner when Clint returns and steps up behind him. His hands settle on Phil’s hips.

“You look hot doing that.”

Phil straightens and bursts out laughing. “I beg to differ.”

Clint’s lips brush along Phil’s neck. “Definitely hot.” He presses closer to Phil. His lips move higher, mouthing along the skin behind Phil’s ear.

Phil shivers. He’s always liked the feeling of Clint’s weight against him, knowing how well Clint can use the strength he possesses, both in the field and in more intimate settings. Clint lost a lot of it in the wake of the accident, but he’s already gained some of it back, and he’s doing his best to let Phil feel that.

Clint’s teeth graze over Phil’s sensitive skin and his hand slides around to his front, finger tips teasing just inside Phil’s pajama pants.

It feels very purposeful, moreso than during the times they’ve made out since returning home. It also feels good, calling up all the memories of being undone by Clint’s hands. Phil presses back against Clint, wanting him closer. There isn’t exactly much between them—Clint only put on a standard pair of SHIELD-issued boxer briefs by the feel of it, and Phil’s in one of his oldest pajamas, worn thin from years of washing. Phil leans over the counter just enough to bring their hips into alignment. Clint’s cock feels heavy against his ass. It’s unexpected, almost startling, and a groan slips past Phil’s lips.

“Clint, what…”

Clint slowly turns Phil around. “I noticed yesterday morning.” He nuzzles Phil’s cheek. “And I thought, oh, hi, hello there, but…” He rolls his hips, the hardening line of his cock unmistakable along Phil’s own. “I didn’t want to do anything without you.”

Phil pulls Clint into a rough kiss. “I’ll have you know that that’s way more romantic than oatmeal.”

Clint shrugs. “Didn’t exactly want to be all, hey, my dick works again, please let’s have sex now.”

“I appreciate the effort.” Phil slips his hand into Clint’s shorts. He treasures the way Clint’s cock curves into his palm, hardening more with each stroke. “But I have a promise to make good on.”

“Fuck, yes.” Clint’s hip twist as he pushes into Phil’s hand.

Phil almost wants to see Clint come like this, carried over by nothing than the slow even stroke of his hand. But he did promise, and the prospect of being inside of Clint again after months rips hot and fierce through Phil.

Getting back into bed takes longer than necessary but Phil can’t stop touching Clint.

When they’re finally sprawled across the sheets, Clint tugs Phil on top of him, his legs hitched high against Phil’s sides. They fall into a deep kiss, and their hips slot together in a lazy push-pull. The way Clint’s cock paints sticky trails against Phil’s stomach suggests that he’s close already.

Phil pulls out of the kiss. “Do you still want to…?”

“Yeah, yes, let me just—“ Clint stretches his arm and yanks the nightstand drawer open, nearly wresting it out of its hinges. “Okay, where is…argh, Phil, you said you—”

“It’s in there. Try on the left side.”

Clint whoops when his fingers finally draw out the lube. He hands it to Phil. “Um, I’ll probably need your fingers for longer than usually.”

Desire spikes through Phil again. “I think I can manage.” He tries to sit up, but Clint stops him. 

“Want you to stay close,” he says. “Please.”

Phil ponders for a moment how he can do that and have enough room to work Clint open. “Here,” he maneuvers them into their sides, facing each other. “Pull your leg up.” Clint follows the request, but it’s not a good angle. Phil grasps Clint’s thigh and tugs it higher up. He’s careful; Clint’s knee isn’t a hundred percent yet. “Is this okay?”

“Fine.” Clint’s hand splays across Phil’s chest. “Get me ready.”

Phil squeezes a generous amount of lube over his fingers and pushes three fingers between Clint’s cheeks. He drags his fingers back and forth. He wants Clint to be as relaxed as possible. This isn’t new to either of them, of course, but it’s been a long time since they’ve done this.

Clint sighs. He pushes his face into the crook of Phil’s neck. “Feels good.” His thumb nudges against a nipple, sending sparks through Phil.

Phil rubs his fingertips over Clint’s hole, pressing gently on the rim and easing away, in and away, repeating the pattern until Clint pushes down against his fingers.

One finger slips inside easily, but Phil still takes his time, twisting back and forth. Clint moves with him, clearly eager for more. It takes a little more effort to work a second and third finger into Clint, but once they’re in, Clint moans.

“Missed this so much,” he whispers. His hips jerk down onto Phil’s fingers.

Phil shudders. He has missed this, too, being this close to Clint. He turns his fingers in gentle half-circles, marveling at the soft warmth and the way Clint opens up more with each turn.

“Ready?” he asks. He’s amazed that Clint hasn’t come yet—there are wet trails all down Phil’s front.

Clint nods. He rolls onto his back, dragging Phil with him. Phil manages to keep his fingers mostly in Clint as they rearrange themselves; It seems important to keep that connection for reasons Phil can’t quite explain.

Phil slicks his cock with his free hand, and he only draws his fingers out of Clint’s body the moment he pushes into him. He hesitates, wondering if he needs to do this in stages.

“C’mon,” Clint urges, his fingers flexing on Phil’s back.

Phil pushes all the way in. Clint tenses, his back arched. “Okay?” Phil asks, keeping himself perfectly still. Clint feels incredibly tight around him.

“Yeah, just.” Clint draws in a shuddering breath. “That was a lot. Fuck, I almost forgot what that’s like.”

“Too much?” Phil struggles to keep still. He knows what Clint means—the want circulating through Phil from being snug inside of Clint, buried to the hilt, is nearly overwhelming. He’ll stop and try again if that’s what Clint needs, but what he needs is the opposite.

“No.” Clint exhales. Some of the tension leaves his body. His eyes close.

Phil can feel Clint’s chest expand with another deep breath. He runs a hand down Clint’s side. “Let me know if this is okay.” Phil pulls out the tiniest bit and pushes back in.

Clint hums in agreement. His hands slide down to Phil’s ass. “Do that again.” 

Phil moves, letting Clint’s hands tell him how far and how fast. 

“This is good,” Clint finally says when they’ve found a rhythm that is deep and slow. His hands move up Phil’s back and wrap around his shoulders. His breath hitches every time Phil pushes in. 

With every stroke, Clint goes more pliant under him. It’s amazing to watch. To feel. It’s a show of absolute trust, and it makes Phil’s heart overflow. He pushes an arm under Clint’s shoulder so he can cradle the back of Clint’s head in his hand, and his other hand finds his way into the small of Clint’s back. It messes with his leverage, but he needs Clint as close he can get him. 

Clint answers by folding his arms tightly across Phil’s back. He noses against his ear. “Keep going. Please. This is—“ A shiver runs through Clint’s entire body. 

Phil gasps. He can feel that wave going through Clint, and it makes his next stroke more forceful. 

“Yes.” Clint presses up. “Please.”

Phil puts more of his weight behind his strokes. Need builds inside of him—to push harder, deeper. He trembles. “Can’t do this much longer.” 

Clint’s fingers wind into his hair, tugging gently. “What d’you need?”

Phil drops his head onto Clint’s shoulder. He can already feel his rhythm falter. But this isn’t about him—it’s about Clint. He shakes his head.

Clint coaxes him into a kiss. It’s a lot dirtier than Phil expects, a messy slide of lips and tongues. “Fuck me like that.”

Phil whines and his hips snap forward.

“Just like that.” Clint draws his knees up.

Perhaps it’s Phil’s imagination but he bottoms out deeper than before. He holds onto Clint and falls into sets of short sharp strokes that draw bitten-off moans from Clint. It doesn’t take long until liquid heal pools inside of Phil and he tries to get a hand between them, but Clint stops him.

“Not yet. Wanna feel you come. Please.” Clint twists his hips in a way that nearly blows out Phil’s brain.

He shoves into Clint and comes, hard, for a long time, a groan tearing out from deep in his throat.

As he catches his breath, Clint’s hand runs up and down his back. “Still with me?” Clint asks.

“Mostly.” 

When Phil’s brain is mostly online again, he tries to pull out of Clint, but a hand on his ass stops him.

“Not yet. If you can. I don’t want—don’t want this to be over yet.”

Phil smiles and brushes his lips across Clint’s. “Does that me you will let me make you come now?”

“You better,” Clint replies, swiping his tongue into Phil’s mouth.

As they kiss, Phil reaches for Clint’s cock. It feels hot against his palm, skin drawn tight across it. Phil’s thumb traces slick trails from head to root and back up again.

Clint moans into the kiss. “Tease.”

“Think you could come like this?” Phil presses his thumb down harder.

Clint pants against his mouth.

Phil twists his hand around the head, amazed at how quickly his palm feels sticky and wet. “Maybe we should lay off sex more often if this is the result.”

“N-no.” It’s all Clint manages between breaths. There’s a flush crossing his cheeks and down his neck.

Phil knows that he must feel ready to burst, and he takes mercy on Clint. He’s glad to have years of learning Clint’s body to fall back on so he knows exactly how tight to make his grip and how to move his hand.

A sob pushes past Clint’s lips just before he comes and his entire body seizes up from the force of his orgasm. Phil strokes him through it. As Clint shudders through the last wave, Phil lets his cock slip from Clint; better now than when it becomes too uncomfortable for both of them. A tremor runs through Clint’s thighs and his flingers twitch against Phil’s back.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbles. “Always feels weird, I know.” He pushes sweaty curls of hair away from Clint’s forehead. It takes a while for Clint’s eyes to come back into focus. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Clint sounds shaky.

Phil continues to run his fingers across Clint’s face. Over his brows and cheeks, across his chin and down his neck. He follows a collar bone to the center of his chest, where he rests his hand. Clint folds his hand on top of Phil’s. 

Phil looks up. Clint’s eyes flit all over Phil’s face. 

Clint draws in a breath. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Phil waits, just in case Clint has more to say.

“I feel like me again.”

Hearing that makes it all worth it. The weeks of uncertainty and waiting, the slow recovery, the moments when they weren’t on the same page. “This feels like us. Like it was before.”

Clint smiles. “Yes. It does.”

**

The first time Clint goes back to the SHIELD range is at 5:30am on a Tuesday morning. Clint has spent long hours in the gym, but he took his time going back to target practice. Phil never pushed him about it, but he’s relieved when Clint finally asks when he can schedule some range time.

“I blocked off an hour. Surveillance feed is off,” Phil says as he watches Clint open his bow case. “It’s just us.”

Clint runs his fingertips along the entire length of the bow. Phil wonders if this is the first time Clint has touched it since the accident. Clint has never unpacked it in Phil’s presence once they returned home, but perhaps he did when he was alone.

“Want me to leave?” Phil asks.

Clint’s eyes shoot up. “No. I want you here.” He shakes out his arms and rolls his shoulder. “’m nervous.”

Phil rests a hand on his shoulder. He knows deep in his heart that Clint’s aim will still be true, but he also knows it would be wrong to say that. Clint needs to rediscover this for himself. Phil squeezes his shoulder and steps back.

Clint settles his quiver across his back and picks up the bow. He inhales and exhales with great care.

He doesn’t take it slow after that. 

He draws and releases and hits the target dead center. He does it again, and again. Ten arrows, ten hits.

Then his head drops forward, he pushes a hand in front of his eyes, and his shoulders start to shake. Phil draws him into this arms and Clint lets his bow clatter to the floor so he can cling to Phil.

They stand like that for long minutes before Clint pulls away. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay.”

“Does it feel the same?”

Clint looks down the line to where the targets stand. “Yes and no. Shooting’s the same. Taking aim, letting go. But it feels different.”

Phil nods. Bones mended in new ways, sinews and muscles aligned in slightly different paths.

“But I can still do this.” Clint draws himself up to his full height. His arms hang loose at his side, but Phil can see the strength running through them. Here’s the agent who has broken dozens of SHIELD’s records, who has a brilliant mind in the field, and who’s had Phil’s back more times than he can count.

Phil nods. “At ease, Agent Barton.”

Clint’s shoulders relax a fraction. He picks up his bow and says, “Let’s get to work.”


End file.
